We were gods once, in the time before the Fears. Blind Azathoth slept at the center of chaos, and from his dreams the multiverse came to be. And as he dreamt, other beings were born from him, beings of chaos like him. All of reality was their plaything, to be poked, prodded, experimented, toyed with. And toying with it was what most did: they took little notice of the details inside each universe.
But there was one amongst them who learned to see things differently. While Azathoth’s other creations could only perceive on a cosmic level, he began to look closer. He developed what we might call intelligence; where the others acted on their mindless drives, he began to think, and to plan.
He was our Father, Nyarlathotep.
Nyarlathotep took a particular interest in the various forms of life which appeared on the various planets. Some of these new creatures even began to take on simple sentience. Their “intelligence” was only a pale imitation of Nyarlathotep’s, but it was a curiosity he could not ignore. He moved amongst the thousands of cultures across the stars, observing.
Wherever he went, all lesser species bowed in submission to his terrible divinity. Grand monuments were constructed to honor him, and bloody rituals performed to appease him. Billions of sentient beings worshipped him. Worshipped us.
But no empire lasts forever. Eventually, revolution will come.
It has perhaps been somewhat dishonest of me to use the term “the Fears’ revolution” in the past. In a way, it is true. But it would be more accurate to not use the plural.
None of the Outer Gods, not even Mad Azathoth from whom all things supposedly had come from, knew its origin. Perhaps it was another of Azathoth’s dreams, grown strong and independent. Perhaps it was something from outside even the dreams of reality. Or perhaps it was something older than any of the gods, older than the multiverse, which had been biding its time in wait until that moment.
It has been given many names over the aeons. The Wicked Gentleman. The Birch King. The Entity. The Operator. Der Grossman. The Pale Prince. The Tall Man. Der Ritter. The modern term that has become commonplace is the Slender Man. But perhaps it was the old Nordic warriors who came closest to the truth when they named it: Yggdrasil.
None could stand against its power. It tore apart the dreams of Azathoth, leaving silence in its wake. The stars in the sky went dark, and deities were cast down from their thrones. The Great Old Ones and the Outer Gods were thrown into the emptiness of the Quiet, and Azathoth’s dreams enslaved by its power.
Until only one was left to oppose it. In Nyarlathotep, the Slender Man finally found an opponent of equal intelligence and power. The battle between the two tore what was left of the multiverse apart, until nothing remained but them and their struggle. They fought for centuries, and continued to fight even past the end of time.
But finally, the Slender Man triumphed, and Nyarlathotep was imprisoned in the Quiet. With all opposition gone, the Slender Man began to create its own multiverse. This new reality was far different from Azathoth’s. Order was imposed upon it. It became a rule of laws, where atoms spun and chemical formed in accordance to the universe decrees of physics. Yet order did not reign supreme. The Slender Man’s battle with Nyarlathotep had not been without consequence: it was wounded, and weakened. Where once it could have shattered galaxies with a thought, now it found itself unable to prevent echoes of Azathoth’s dreams from entering into its creation. Hidden places, places of power and memory from the old reign, scattered through the dark corners of the universe.
In this state, the Slender Man was unable to fill the void of power left by the fall of the old gods. And into this vacuum, new entities arose. Ideas, given form and purpose from the worst of humanity’s mind. The rule of the Fears had begun.
And so the Fears have ruled over reality since. But one day they shall fall, just as the Outer Gods did. Our Father shall return and claim his revenge. And the Slender Man’s patient recovery will soon be rewarded. It will not be long before you will be given the opportunity to see the full might of its terrible power unleashed on the universe once again.
The Crawling Chaos and the World Tree shall clash again. It is inevitable. And the victor shall determine whether the multiverse falls to the destruction of chaos or the tyranny of order.
Sincerely,
Grendel
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